


A Lover on the Left, a Sinner on the Right

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Bad Daddy Argent [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Barebacking, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Rule 63, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: But all the same, she feels cheated—of what, she doesn’t know—when Chris butts in again. “He’s got a great mouth, doesn’t he, sugar?”She’s staring in Peter’s sky-blue eyes as she rasps, “The best.”The sudden silence has her lax muscles trying to tense. “Better than me?” Chris asks, and his voice is light but that doesn’t mean safe, and oh, oh shit.





	A Lover on the Left, a Sinner on the Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts).



> Notes: So, part III _was_ going to be the end of this, but then Bunny won me in the Fandom Cares auction, and asked for the trash crusade to continue, so. I disclaim all responsibility for this. This is 100% her fault. That being said, you don’t technically need to have read the previous parts of this for it to make sense, but I recommend it to help grasp all the subtleties at play here. Helpers on this include: greenie, Dena, and Sericea, without whom, this trash would not be confronting your eyeballs. 
> 
> Also: the dubious consent tag is for Chris, which is in keeping with the rest of the series. Everything between Stiles and Peter is completely consensual.
> 
> Happy Friday!

 

 

Stiles walks through the doorway and stops dead, because—“What are _you_ doing here?”

Chris comes up behind her, and chuckles in her ear. “He’s your birthday present, sugar. You like?”

And that. She doesn’t actually know what to do with that. There’s a long pause, and then she asks, “Everyone here is okay with that?”

Peter doesn’t hesitate, stalking across the room to sandwich her between them. “Of course, sweetheart. There are so many things I want to do with you.”

“Chris?” Her voice shakes, but neither of them mention it. She just—she needs to be sure, because this isn’t like last time, when Peter showed up in her bedroom and asked to eat her out. This—she doesn’t know _what_ , exactly, his plan is, but the fact that he’s in Chris’s bedroom and Chris is all heat and lean muscle behind her makes this _feel_ very, very different.

Chris hushes her, and she realizes she started panting. Peter backs up a step, head tilted. “Christopher thought you might enjoy a little birthday treat, sweetheart. That’s all. I’m just here to spoil you both rotten.”

At that, she snorts. “Purely out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

He smiles charmingly. “But of course.”

Absolutely nothing about his 100% phony innocent act should reassure her. And yet. “Okay, so—what’s the plan, here?”

Something flickers across Peter’s face, but it’s gone too fast for her to recognize what it is. He holds out a hand for her, and she takes it without hesitation, letting him draw her away from Chris and tuck her against his chest. “The plan is that Christopher over there will have a seat, and watch as we find out how many times I can make you come.”

A thrill goes up her spine. “I like the sounds of this.”

“Mm, I thought you might.”

The thought of being watched really is exciting, even if it also makes nervous butterflies dance in her stomach. It’s why she turns towards where Chris is lounging in an armchair in the corner. “What about you, though?”

He smirks, his gaze heated as he takes in the way she’s pressed against Peter’s bulk. “Don’t worry about me, sugar. There’ll be time for that later. For now, you need to get naked for Peter.”

She drops her eyes, but steps back to unbutton her jean shorts. While she’s used to being bare for Chris, she hasn’t been naked in front of Peter before—she wore an oversized shirt last time, and while his hands wandered under it, he wouldn’t have seen anything even if he had come up for air from between her thighs—but it’s. She can do this.

So she startles when he stills her hands as she grasps the hem of her tee shirt. “You don’t have to strip down if you don’t want to.”

She feels a surge of relief that is, honestly, ridiculous in its intensity.

“Take it off, sugar.”

She doesn’t expect it, but when she looks, Chris has his serious face on, and she remembers that she’s on loan to Peter, that Chris wants a show, so she nods. Her shirt lands on the floor a moment later, but before she gets any further, Peter catches her face between his hands and kisses her. It’s soft, gentle for all that she can feel the _want_ in it, which makes it easy to sink into. She gasps when his hands drop to her waist, dragging hotly up her sides to cup her ribs before sliding behind her and unclasping her bra.

But he doesn’t break their kiss, licking into her open mouth as his hands move back down, and when they grip the backs of her thighs, she understands what’s coming. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and her legs around his waist as he picks her up, and they must make quite the picture if Chris’s muttered, “Damn,” is anything to go by.

She's laid on the bed gently, their kiss continuing, and her hands slide from his shoulders up into his hair. It makes him groan, the sound vibrating from his chest to hers. When he pulls away, he whispers, “Let me up for a moment, sweetheart.”

She unwinds her fingers from his hair but not her legs from his hips. He gives her a little smile as he gets up on his knees, grips the back of his shirt, and pulls it over his head. Her mouth goes a little dry at the sight of him, because yeah, she's seen him shirtless before but not when she has free rein to stare.

He chuckles, but it isn't mean. “Hoped you'd like that, sweetheart.”

He lets her trace over his belly, and it's—he’s a wolf, she knows that gesture means something, even in bed—and then goes down on his elbows to cage her under him and kiss her again. She whines, arousal building in her belly, and he grinds his denim-clad cock against her.

She breaks away from his mouth to hiss at that, because it’s rough and almost hurts, but the pressure and friction feels so _good_ she kinda wants more. Peter takes her thrown-back head as an invitation, nibbling his way down her neck to gnaw on her collarbones. He doesn’t stop there, either, and her fingers sink into his hair again as he moves her bra down to reach her breasts.

Stiles loses track of things for a bit after that—her world is nothing but the feel of Peter’s mouth and fingers on her chest, licking and sucking and biting and pinching at her nipples and kneading her breasts, sending sharp bolts of want through her until her hips are rolling up to rut against his stomach because she’s never been this wet in her life. She jolts when she hears Chris growl, “Stop teasing and eat her, Hale,” because she’d—she had actually _forgotten_ that he was there, so caught up in Peter’s intensity.

Which—he doesn’t obey the growled order, catching her eye and quirking one eyebrow. He doesn’t move until she gives him a whispered, “Yes, please.” Then and only then does he slither down the bed. She closes her legs as he drags her shorts and panties down and off, heart thundering in her chest for a lot of reasons, not all of them sexy.

But Peter slides his hands up her legs gently, coaxing them apart again like Chris never has, biting and sucking dark marks up her inner thighs in a way that has her hips rolling against his face when he finally flicks his tongue over the wet folds of her cunt. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against her, and then splays one of those big hands across her belly, holding her place as he starts lapping at her almost leisurely.

It’s only _almost_ because the hungry noises he makes, and the way his eyes glow electric blue as he stares up the length of her twitching torso make it abundantly clear he’s serious about this, about the way heat is coiling slow and dangerous at the base of her spine. And that’s—she can’t hold his gaze, so she lets her head fall back, lets her body arch and undulate as she gets closer and closer, as he drags his tongue over her again and again until she wails as her orgasm unfolds like a supernova.

He doesn’t stop right away, even when she’s limp and whining, his tongue soft and hot and sending sharp jolts through her as he gives her a few lingering licks before pulling away. She gets a soft half-smile as he kneels over her, his fingers sliding up her side, and it’s—she doesn’t know how to respond to that. Her brain is melted and there’s just—there’s too much emotion on his face, too much for her to name, she’s never been looked at this way before.

But all the same, she feels cheated—of what, she doesn’t know—when Chris butts in again. “He’s got a great mouth, doesn’t he, sugar?”

She’s staring in Peter’s sky-blue eyes as she rasps, “The best.”

The sudden silence has her lax muscles trying to tense. “Better than me?” Chris asks, and his voice is light but that doesn’t mean safe, and oh, oh shit.

“Now, now, Christopher—weren’t you the one who told me that nothing said in the afterglow should be held against you? The little darling’s just come her brains out. You can’t hold that against her.”

For a breathless moment, she’s not sure how this will play out, but Chris husks a laugh, and it feels like there’s air in the room again. “I suppose not. You ready to get on with it, sugar? I was promised a show, after all.”

At the look Peter gives her, Stiles realizes that _no_ , no he wasn’t. She—she doesn’t know if she would have agreed to this, if he asked, but the point is that he _didn’t_. She doesn’t owe him something she didn’t say she’d give.

But the truth is, she’s . . . more than a little intrigued by Peter. By what he’s already proved he can give her. So when she murmurs, “Please?” and holds out a hand to him, it’s not for Chris at all.

The smirk she gets tells her he knows it. He lies next to her, and then pulls her into his lap, settling her back-to-chest, cradled between his knees. She lets her thighs fall open for him when his fingertips trail down her stomach, and he doesn’t disappoint, rubbing teasingly against her inner lips. His stubble scrapes over her neck before he murmurs, “What do you say, sweetheart? You want me to finger you, open your little cunt up for my cock?”

She moans, because _yes_ , she wants. She pushes up unto his touch, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. She feels more than hears his amused huff, and gasps as a finger slides smoothly inside her. There’s no resistance, she’s too wet for that, but it makes her want more. She tries to rock against his hand, find the friction she needs, but his other arm wraps around her waist, holding her against him as he strokes her insides with a single digit that is in no way enough.

“Greedy, are we?”

She doesn’t answer that, and Peter doesn’t seem to expect her to, because he withdraws to nudge a second finger in to join the first, sucking a hickey into existence under her ear. She should be upset about it, she knows she should, but the hot prickle of blood vessels breaking makes her squeeze around his fingers and she wonders why Chris never did this, never left marks she could see and touch later.

Her thoughts scatter when he curls his fingers and rotates his wrist, pushing against her g-spot and making her breath hitch. “Peter please, gimme more, I can take it, stop teasing!”

Chris lets out a short bark of laughter. “You heard the girl, Hale. Give it to her.”

Peter hums. “Not yet.”

She glances at Chris, sitting in the corner, and sees his expression turn pinched. But his tone stays even. “Have you forgotten who’s in charge, here?”

Another twist of Peter’s fingers leaves her breathless and clinging to the forearm braced across her belly, and Stiles has to wonder if he really believes that, because—for the first time since he cornered her in his bathroom months ago—she really doesn’t think he is. Not right now.

Peter snorts. “Even if that’s true, we’re giving you that show you wanted, aren’t we?”

“Maybe this isn’t the show I wanted, Hale.”

Peter presses deep, then, turning her would-be-laugh into a strangled yelp. “I’m not going to risk hurting the birthday girl.”

Chris laughs at that. It’s ugly, mocking. “I’ve seen your dick, and she takes my cock without any trouble. Your concern is cute, but misplaced. Sugar’s not gonna break if you give her what she wants.” 

She feels cold, and shudders in Peter’s grip. He presses in tighter, thigh-to-thigh and arms giving her a brief squeeze as he ducks his head to breathe against her ear. “I’d treasure you, if you were mine, sweetheart. Not because you belonged to me, because you deserve it.” Before she can respond to that, he’s lifting his head to glare at Chris. “I’m sure she can, Christopher, but you can’t knot, so it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

There’s silence, and Stiles’s heart gives one, two, three rib-bruising thumps before Chris asks, “You’re going to knot her?” in an eerie monotone.

And, _oh_! That’s a thing?

“I’d hoped to, yes. She’ll only turn eighteen once, after all. Why not make her birthday memorable?”

Her mind is racing at the possibilities, because this, this is not something she’d expected. She honestly thought knotting was a myth, a fanfiction trope, a dirty fantasy that kept companies like Bad Dragon in business, not something that real, live people could do. But she’s not so lost in her own head that she misses the note of uncertainty in Peter’s voice as he asks, “What do you say, sweetheart? You want to show Christopher how perfect you’ll look stuffed with my knot?”

And oh, oh god, the only answer she was ever going to be able to give to that question is the “Yes,” that falls drawn-out and dirty from her mouth before he’s really finished asking.

“Mm, that’s what I like to hear.”

He doesn’t make her wait any more, arranging them so that he’s flat on his back, legs spread as she straddles him so Chris can watch as she sinks down on his cock. She loses the bra she’d still been half-wearing in the transition, but she’s too preoccupied with the feel of him inside her to be self-conscious. He’s not as big as Chris, and she finds she likes that better—likes the satisfaction of being filled without the sharp edge of too-much undercutting the pleasure. Peter nods up at her, settling his hands on her hips.

“Ride me, sweetheart.”

She blushes, a little, and it—it helps, that her back is to Chris, that he can’t see it. “I don’t, um. I’ve never done that before.”

The smile he gives her makes his eyes crinkle, and it feels like she can’t breathe. “This is for you—I want you to come for me. Just do whatever feels good.”

Stiles nods, because that—she can do that. She hasn’t before—Chris moves her and holds her where he wants her, he gives orders and makes her come—but this, having Peter lie there and let her take her pleasure from him is—it makes heat burst to life in her chest and crawl up her throat. She closes her eyes, bracing her hands on Peter’s chest as she starts to rock.

It’s nice, but after a moment, he stops her. “Try leaning back sweetheart. That’s it,” he encourages when she grips his thighs above the knee for balance.

When she moves, the difference is immediate—his cock presses against her g-spot and she lets out a little gaspy sound. “There you go,” he murmurs, and she only half-notices, too caught up in all the new sensations that are lighting her up like the fourth of July, the stretch in her hips and dull ache building in her thighs, the way this angle makes her want to squeeze tight and hold Peter _right there_ and bounce madly at the same time.

Stiles drops her head back, the full length of her throat bared as she starts to tense, the beginnings of an orgasm sparking in her pelvis. The move earns her a rumble that she can feel where her knees are pressed to his ribs. “By the moon, you’re gorgeous,” he rasps, and in that moment, she has no trouble believing it.

She hears Chris groan, and it makes her stutter to a stop, half-turning to look at him. He’s slouched in his chair, jeans open and a hand wrapped around his cock. He smirks at her. “Don’t stop on my account, sugar. Get those young hips back to work—that werewolf cock won’t ride itself.”

She nods, chastised, shoulders hunching as she turns back to Peter—who’s looking at her with a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw. Before she can ask what’s wrong, he cups the back of her neck and draws her down for a kiss. It causes him to shift inside her, half-sliding out and pressing her clit against him. She gasps, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips. His arms wrap around her back, trapping her against his chest as he rolls his hips and flicks his tongue against the roof of her mouth.

She moans and shoves her hips back to meet him. Or, well. She tries, but she can’t move much, with his arms caging her in. The kiss breaks, and she whines, “Please?”

He chuckles and lets her go, and she scrambles back into position, bracing herself against his legs as she rocks. It still feels good, but it’s harder to focus on what she’s doing—she’s too aware of Chris in the corner, his words echoing in her ears.

She’s startled when Peter trails his fingers down her stomach. “Focus, Stiles.”

“Sorry,” she mutters.

He gives a small shake of his head, other hand squeezing her thigh. “Close your eyes for me.” She does, and the hand on her thigh strokes soothingly. “Good girl.”

The praise makes her face heat, but she relaxes, pulling him deeper as she settles her weight against him. His hand feels big splayed against her stomach, and she jerks when his thumb brushes her clit. “I have your attention now, dearest?”

For the briefest moment, she has the urge to call him ‘daddy’. It’s the tone, she thinks. “Yes.”

“Mm, good. Now then, you get back to what you were doing. And, as long as you stay focussed, I'll keep,” he thumbs her clit again, making her clench. “Okay?”

She nods, maybe gives a breathless “yes,” but she's too intent on having him touch her again to say anything else. She arches, settling him at the perfect angle inside her, and then she rocks there, unwilling to move too much and dislodge him. When his thumb starts rubbing tight circles around her clit, her head drops back again, but she doesn't think about it, about what that gesture means to a predator.  

She just revels in the feel of Peter inside her, hot and pushing against her g-spot with every grind of her hips; in the big hand cupping her thigh; the warmth of him under her and the way she can feel him breathe, with her knees bracketing his ribs; the way every sweep of his thumb makes lightning coil at the base of her spine. She hears Chris, recognizes his gravelly tones, but she can't make out the words over the rush of her pulse in her ears, and finds she likes it better that way—she’s much more invested in the orgasm she’s chasing, in the way her whole world has narrowed down to Peter’s cock inside her and the thumb he’s using to work her clit.

She chokes on a shriek when she comes, squeezing Peter tight between her thighs and shaking. She slumps atop him, after, panting hard. Chris says something vaguely approving, but it’s the whispered, “That was perfect, sweetheart,” against her neck that really matters.

It takes a few minutes before she’s with it enough to realize she can feel Peter’s cock throbbing—he’s still hard. Which. He would be, wouldn’t he? He said he’d knot her.

She braces her arms and lifts herself up so she can see his face. “Will it hurt?” she breathes. Chris thinks she can take it, but she’s not so sure.

Peter, to his credit, doesn’t answer her immediately. Instead, he gets a thoughtful expression, and then he worms a finger inside her, next to his cock. She moans, hips jerking, and when she can focus again, he’s almost smirking at her, but not quite. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart. And, if you’re not? Let me know.”

She nods, and lets him manhandle her into position. She’s not quite jelly-limbed, though she’s close—it takes all her concentration to hold herself up on her hands and knees facing Chris. Peter doesn’t waste time, sliding back inside her, and she grunts because god, this angle is something else with the way his cock curves.

She doesn’t expect it when Peter winds his arms under hers, hauling her up on her knees and against his chest, forcing her back to arch. “Look at him,” he murmurs in her ear, and she does, trying to focus on Chris past the way her body rocks with every snap of Peter’s hips.

And Chris, well. He looks hungry, eyes glued to where Peter’s cock is disappearing inside her, hand white-knuckled where he’s squeezing—but not stroking—himself. “Who does he think he is?” Peter breathes. “That he'd give you away, share you, like you're not the most precious thing his hands have ever touched.”

He pauses, and she's. She doesn't know what she is. She's been fucked a _lot_ , between her teenaged libido and Chris's appetite, but she's never—not like this. Not with these careful check-ins and pleasure for the sake of it. Chris makes her come like he's proving a point.

Peter, for all that she'd have laughed off his words a week ago, is doing exactly what he said he would. It makes her wonder—is this what he meant, when he said he'd treasure her?

“I would never share you, if you were mine,” he tells her and she _wants_ that.

But that might just be the orgasms talking.

Before she can reply, he moves them, sitting back on his heels and pulling her down into his lap. “Alright, sweetheart. Ready for the main event?”

“Pretty sure she was ready about fifteen minutes ago,” Chris snipes, but they ignore him.

“Yeah.” She doesn't have to think about that one. “Knot me, Peter? Please?”

She feels his pleased rumble against her back, the vibration moving through her lungs, and it makes her clench around him. “How can I refuse when you ask so prettily?”

It's a rhetorical question, but she's still gonna snark back—and then he rolls her onto his cock, and the ability to make a sentence disappears. She can feel where he's thickening as the knot forms, and she moves with him, rocking on and off it, feeling the stretch as it gets a little bigger every time she sinks back down until he stops her, hands on her hips holding her still.

Her mouth drops open as his knot continues to fill, stretching her in the best way. She’s full, probably fuller than when Chris fucks her, but it’s not the same at all. With Chris, it’s an overwhelming sort of stuffed, so much sensation that she can’t tell where the pleasure ends and the pain begins until her orgasm is tearing through her.

But this? This is an overwhelming fullness just inside so that even the slightest movement has him rubbing against her g-spot and sending pleasure zipping up her spine, while the rest of him is cradled inside her snugly, teasing at her cervix without bruising it.

And then she feels him start to come, feels the heat and extra slick, and the way it just keeps going. She probably shouldn’t find it hot, but she _does_ , and she can’t help clenching around him—and promptly whimpering at the way it makes her start to shake.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, one hand leaving her hip to rub over her clit firmly. “Come on my knot.”

Chris groans, and she can’t blame him, because she’s starting to tremble all over with the beginnings of an orgasm that she can just tell is going to kill her. “Look at him,” Peter whispers, and she forces her eyes open. “Look at him on his throne, thinking he controls you when he should be on his knees.”

It’s that image—of Chris on his knees right here and now, suckling at her clit and lapping up the come starting to leak out around Peter’s knot—that sends her over the edge. Peter works her through it, rubbing her clit and holding her steady as she shakes and jerks and screams silently with lungs that’ve forgotten how to breathe because every muscle is locked and tingling, she’s coming so hard.

She’s spent after, gulping in heaving breaths, little whimpers falling out her mouth as Peter manoeuvres them onto their sides. She can feel the muscles in her legs twitching where they lie heavy and motionless tangled with Peter’s, and knows the way they’ll ache tomorrow will be 100% worth it.

She notices when Peter’s knot starts to deflate, and whines, wanting it back, wanting to keep that feeling of glorious fullness. He chuckles and kisses her throat. “Next time, dearest. Right now, someone else is feeling a little neglected.”

And that, that’s a reminder that Chris—he hasn’t come. And he’ll definitely want to. She peels open her eyelids and sees him still in the chair, cock an angry red. She’s not looking forward to having to take it, is too tired for any more, but she doesn’t know how to tell him that in front of Peter—who is slinking towards him?

“Something you want, Hale?”

Peter gives him a cocky smirk, and it has a nasty edge to it she doesn’t understand. It’s nothing like how he’d looked at her. “I think I have something _you_ want, Christopher.”

And then he drops to his knees, pulling Chris’s hand away from his crotch. “I’m saving this for the birthday girl,” Chris rasps, but it lacks conviction. He sounds miles away from what he did an hour ago, when he was confidently ordering her to get naked.

Peter tuts. “Oh, but she’s all tuckered out, poor thing. Sure I can’t get you anything while she catches her breath?” Peter drags his tongue up the base of Chris’s shaft, and that’s it—Chris curses, hands fisting in Peter’s hair as he drags the smirking mouth onto his cock. If she weren’t already too fucked out to move, it’d be hands-down the hottest thing she’s ever seen, and she’d be fingering herself right now.

Instead, she watches as Chris’s eyes scrunch shut, his mouth dropping open and hips snapping as Peter _takes_ it, cheeks hollow and thumbs rubbing against Chris’s stomach. She’s somehow expecting it, but also shocked when Chris grunts and jerks before deflating—he must’ve come in two minutes flat.

“I told you I was saving that,” he grumbles, and Stiles stares, because really? He’s gonna complain about a _blowjob_? About getting to have Peter Hale at his feet and sucking him off?

Peter rolls to his feet gracefully, one shoulder rising in a small shrug. “Not my fault you came, Christopher. And besides—I’m sure she enjoyed the show, and found it a deeply memorable part of a very lovely birthday celebration. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely,” she replies, though probably not for the reasons Chris wants her to.

He sighs, and gets up, tucking himself back into his jeans and checking his phone. He frowns. “Stiles, you know where the shower is. Allison’s having some sort of issue, I need to go pick her up. I know you drove here, so I’m assuming you can get yourself home before I get back?”

She nods, stunned as he leaves without waiting for an answer. It’s not the first time they’ve had a close call with getting caught, and normally, it doesn’t bother her much, if at all, because that’s part of this whole thing with him, but—

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and get out of here.”

 

***

 

She gets in the shower with Peter on autopilot, and notices him helping her, the gentle way he cleans between her thighs, but she doesn’t react to it. It’s not until she’s in the passenger seat of her Jeep and he’s driving her home that she surfaces from inside her own head.

“Did you mean it?”

He glances at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, but you can safely assume I did.”

And that—that throws her for a loop. “I just. What you said, about—about how you’d. Um. Treasure me. Would you—do you really want that?” So it’s not elegant. Sue her. She’s hoping he’ll know what she means.

Sure enough, they come to a stop sign, and he turns to face her. “I meant every word of what I said. You are precious, and deserve to be treated as such, to be taken out and treated right, not hidden away. You deserve far better than to be the latest in a long line of Chris Argent’s dirty little secrets.”

She—she’d suspected, that Chris had done this sort of thing before. But it makes something twist painfully in her chest to hear it confirmed. “So, what—what are you asking me?”

He shakes his head, going through the intersection and turning left, towards her dad’s house. “I’m not asking you anything, sweetheart. I’m telling you that I like you, always have. That, if you agreed to be mine, I’d treat you properly, and you’d mine in the light. That we’d be exclusive, no little side-pieces to start vendettas and cause drama.” He pulls into her driveway, and she sees a muscle jump in his jaw, realizes this is bothering him. “I would also never do to you what he did tonight.”

“What’s that?” she murmurs, laying her hand over his on the gear shift.

He looks down, and lets go to bring her hand up to his mouth. He brushes a kiss across her knuckles. “I would never set up something like this, something that involved another person or that you had never done before, without talking to you first. Does he spring surprises on you like that often?”

And that, oh—she laughs a little. “I mean, not often? But he knows what I like, so. I don’t really mind too much.”

His eyes are wolf-bright as he cups her cheek. “And how does he know what you like, Stiles? Has he ever asked?”

And that, well. She doesn’t have an answer for that.

 

***

 

Peter doesn’t press. He calls a cab and walks down the street to catch it, and Stiles—she’s left reeling. Normally, after an evening with Chris, she’s just—tired, physically sore and pleasantly wrung-out. Tonight, everything feels different. She—she didn’t realize, just how different Peter and Chris are in bed until now, in more ways than she’d expected.

She thinks about it, about what it would be like, to be with Peter. It’s scary to contemplate—she’d have to . . . break up with Chris? Quit him? She doesn’t know what they are, but she knows Peter wants exclusivity. And, before things with Lydia got resolved, she’d have jumped at that, but now, she’s hesitant to rock the boat. She has something good with Chris.

But, well. She can’t ignore the voice in her head that whispers anything she had with Peter would be _better_. Even if she’d have to tell her dad and the pack that she’s dating him, even if she has to stop whatever it is she’s doing with Chris.

It’s a lot to think about. There are so many things she doesn’t know. She and Chris would have to keep their history a secret, and she’d have to deal with Derek and Scott’s reactions, and her dad’s blood pressure. Never mind how Chris would react if she told him they were over.

She pauses at that. Why is she hesitant about telling Chris they’re done? She—she’s not afraid of him. He’s never hurt her in ways she didn’t like. He sorted out the situation with Lydia for her. He’s made sure her dad doesn’t find out.

She falls asleep without any answers.

 

***

 

Two days later, she gets a text from Chris. _Come over after 7. You owe me from the other night_.

Her thumbs are flying before she’s stopped to think. _No, I don’t_.

His reply— _What’s wrong?_ —comes through immediately, and she wonders how she didn’t see this before.

And she decides to tell him something she never has: _I don’t want to_.

_Don’t want to what? Sugar, what’s going on? Did Peter say something?_

That ends up being the last straw _. He didn’t have to. I don’t want to do this anymore._

She ignores the way her phone pings with text notifications from him and calls Peter, who answers on the second ring. “Well, hello, Stiles. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It makes her smile. “If you really meant it, you should ask me.”

There’s a heavy silence for a moment. Then, “Do you want to go out for a bite?”

It makes her laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

She can hear his smile when he says, “Lovely. I’ll pick you up in—does half an hour work for you?”

  

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, folks. There you have it. The actual end, FOR REALS this time. Because the last two installments were murder to write, and I have other things to do. 
> 
> Which you can find me bitching and moaning about on [Tumblr](https://www.queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/), if you're interested in that.


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